


Watch Your Language

by cheeky_geek_m0nkey



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeky_geek_m0nkey/pseuds/cheeky_geek_m0nkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca didn't go to Barden, she went to California right after high school and became one of the most wanted music producer and dj. In the height of her career she started doing charity works and one of those was helping underprivileged children where she meets their red-haired teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I still think you would’ve done better off somewhere in Africa,” her manager muttered as Beca pushed open the door to the school. She learned how to tune out his musings a long time ago, sinking into the beat inside her head and pushing to find the way it mixed with the sounds around her. The school, though, was silent in the way a heartbeat was: the noise pounded out from the inside, barely audible until you pressed up against it. Beca could feel the walls hum. But that was probably a result of the fluorescent lights. “There’s more attention with things like that. There’s always a space in the magazines for a celebrity being all saintly. Ms. Moral is what sells.” 

Beca groaned, trailing her hands over the lockers until she stopped, spinning to face her manager. “Dude, stop. That’s not why I’m here, okay?” 

“I’m only saying,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone. “And of course, no signal.” 

Rolling her eyes, Beca glared at the man. “For the record, I’m here because I like music. And kids. And you’re here because you’re a disgusting ass who feels the need to promote everything I do.” 

“Noooo,” the man sang, holding his finger up, “I get  _paid_ to promote everything you do. I feel the need to be somewhere with white sand and blue water, but you’ve pulled me here just to call me names so…” 

“You can just go f–” They had turned to corner according to the signs that led to the office, but Beca made the mistake of talking through the turn, finding a shocked woman on the other side. She was face to face with the woman, her mouth still formed around the thing she was saying. Her eyes found the other woman’s, which were as blue as the water her manager was dreaming of earlier. She became lost in them, her line of thought wavering. She hadn’t realized that she let out the end of her sentence in one exhale, “-uck yourself.” 

The woman stepped back, her mouth open in surprise as she glanced around the hallway to make sure no kids where around. The growing distance between them was enough to snap Beca out of her haze, and she rushed forward, her hands apologetic. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I - that - um…that wasn’t directed towards you I was just…um…like…fuck.” The last word was said more to herself than anyone else, but the woman’s eyes just grew more surprised. That didn’t help the whole “I’m getting lost in your eyes and how are you doing that with your face” disease that seemed to take over Beca’s mind, though. 

“Excuse me, miss, but can you please stop swearing,” the woman muttered, her voice better than Beca could’ve imagined.  _She sings,_ Beca thought, smiling,  _she definitely sings._

She’d spent years now working through the industry, starting from carrying coffee cups to staying in the back of a seedy bar, scouting out new talent. Every week, every month, every year brought something new into her career, but one thing always remained: everyone wanted a fucking chance. She’d become a master at analysis, taking in people’s looks and combining that with the voices that always said “um, hi” a little too cheerily. Before they even began to sing, Beca would know whether they were worth her time or not. 

And, this woman was worth her time. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Beca said quickly, earning another scolding glare from the teacher. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling, enjoying to an unhealthy degree making this stranger all bothered. “Sorry,” she said a bit more sheepishly, “Won’t happen again, Teach.” 

Once she’d successfully rescued the hallways from the monsters of curse words, the woman seemed to relax a little. Her shocked jumps became energetic bounces, as a smile melted onto her face. Quickly, as if nothing had happened, the woman held out her hand. “Ms. Beale,” she said simply, and Beca watched the way the corners of her lips quirked up when she talked, like she could never be far from a smile. It differed so much from the way Beca spoke - from the way anyone in her industry tended to hold themselves - that the DJ felt herself melt too. She took Ms. Beale’s hand, shaking it once. 

“S’that your Christian name? Miss?” 

The teacher smiled, pulling her hand away. “During school hours, yes.”

“And, if, on the completely presumptuous chance that I see you outside school hours?” Beca asked, fiddling with her hands. She tried to focus her attention on anything but the scar on Ms. Beale’s forehead, turning towards the trophy case which was filled with finger paintings. 

“Ah, you’re a dreamer, I see,” Ms. Beale said, stepping forward and crossing one foot in front of the other. Beca noticed that somehow - despite the harsh fluorescent lights - Ms. Beale looked stunning. She assumed that was because she was the source of her own light - her eyes sparkling, her skin glowing, her smile radiating. “But, see, I’m a respectable woman. I don’t just give my first name out willy-nilly.” 

“No?” Beca responded, smiling too. She didn’t know where her manager had gone, or why Ms. Beale didn’t seem in a rush to get to her classroom, but she didn’t much care. She felt every facet of her perfectly concocted image slipping.  “Because I can work for it…”

Ms. Beale pursed her lips, finally letting out a mega-watt smile. “I was hoping you’d say that, Ms. Mitchell,” she said, throwing in a wink, “The kids in there are waiting for a music lesson.” 

Ms. Beale pressed the door open without another word, giving Beca no time to respond to the fact that she’d known who Beca was since the beginning of their interaction. Not that Beca’s response was going to be coherent at all, considering she just gasped when she heard Ms. Beale at her ear whispering, “No swearing, either. That’s for outside school hours too.” 

The class went well. More than well, actually, which was better than what Beca had expected. She wasn’t lying to her manager when she said she liked music. The liking kids part was a bit of a stretch, but it was true nonetheless. She’d been living the life of an adult for near five years now, and she relished the tickle of joy that kids held so tightly onto - anyone and everyone on tour was jaded, with permanent tattoos of smeared eyeliner and frowns on their face. And they weren’t exactly like that because of the horrors that they’d met in their life; they were like that because it was the style to be impossibly stoic and infuriatingly infuriated with the world. There was no one to trust, no one to tease, and no one to point out the fact that  _that_ cloud was shaped like a dinosaur, and that  _that_ M&M  _did_ taste different. 

She thought that she could get her light back if she worked a little bit with people like that again. If she could watch the light growing in kids’ eyes, then maybe she’d figure out how to grow it back in her eyes too. And she was right, to some extent, because she felt brighter than she had in years when she stepped out of the classroom. Her hands were buzzing, and she felt this electricity in the center of chest - it was like her first show, only better, because it was fresh and new and undiluted with alcohol or clouds of smoke. It was pure, and, more than that, it was subtle. A quiet kind of hum instead of a dramatically loud one, and that’s what made it all taste so good. 

Of course, it was the kids. And the music. But more than all of that, it was the woman who demanded to be called Ms. Beale. 

“You did good in there.” Beca opened her eyes, lifting her head from where she’d leaned it onto the lockers. When she did, she saw Ms. Beale, with her arms crossed over the bright blue sundress she was wearing. The outfit couldn’t have been school-sanctioned, Beca thought, because despite all her feminist leanings over school-clothes regulations, Beca suddenly understood just how distracting a pretty woman in a nice dress could be. Only, Ms. Beale was more than pretty - she was radiant. Stunning. 

“Y-Yeah, thanks,” Beca said, looking down at her shoes to break her solid line of staring. “They’re, like, really cool. The little one…what’s his—”

“Thomas,” Ms. Beale said, pressing in a smile and nodding, “Yeah, he’s a stinker. His time tables are, like, out of this world though.” 

Beca chuckled, trying to control her breath when Ms. Beale moved to stand next to her on the locker. “And Cindy?” 

“Sydney. M or K?” 

“Right, Sydney K,” Beca said quickly, “She’s got some mad talent. Man oh man, lock her up now.” 

Ms. Beale laughed, scratching her head, “Yeah, I don’t like to play favorites, but…” 

“But she’s gonna be the next pop princess, so you better get on that. Cuz, yunno, everyone’s a sucker for the whole ‘I want to thank my first grade teacher for making me love music’ speech.” 

Ms. Beale rolled her eyes, but the proud smile spreading over her face gave enough indication that she knew Beca was right. “It’s a good class,” she said, finally confirming it. 

“They’ve got a great teacher,” Beca said, leaning in with a smirk. Ms. Beale sighed, looking up at the ceiling and shaking her head, like she was making a deal with herself. 

“Fine,” she said shortly, her eyes zeroing back on Beca, “Chloe. Chloe is my name.” 

“And does Chloe have a favorite place to eat?” Beca asked, testing the name on her lips. It sounded right, like a bell of some sort, and she filed it away for future music making. 

“Give me a minute to get my phone, and we’ll just find out.” 

 


	2. ...What happened when I got prompted for more

“You can go home now.” 

Beca’s agent spun around on his heels, hearing her from across the hallway. His mouth had formed an “O” and he squinted his eyes. Beca pushed off the lockers, running her fingers along the lines of her jeans. “You,” she said slower, not moving towards him, “Can go home now. I have a ride.” 

“You sure?” he said, though the effort he put into checking was laughable. He was practically one foot out the door as it is. 

“Positive,” she waved her hand mindlessly, “Go off and…enjoy your night. Having sex. With yourself.” 

“Well.” Beca heard the voice from behind her, actively  _letting_ herself jump at the sound. “I thought we talked about that language.” 

Her agent took the interruption to race off before Beca changed her mind, and when Beca turned around, she saw Chloe leaning on the edge of her classroom door with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. 

In the moments that she’d disappeared into the classroom for her phone, it seemed that Beca’s system turned off completely. Because being reacquainted with the sight of Ms. Beale lit her up anew, setting every sense back to high alert, and Beca had to fight to hold herself up, feeling as though she’d been blown back by a harsh gust of wind. 

“R-right,” she stuttered, scratching her head and turning her eyes towards the floor to regain her capabilities. “Well, you know. Outside school hours.” 

“Mm,” Chloe agreed, nodding slowly and uncrossing her legs. Her heels clacked against the ground as she walked towards Beca. “That’s true.” 

Without warning, she reached out to grab Beca’s hand. It was cold where hers was warm, and Beca fought the instinct to pull away by leaning closer, thinking about the strings of contact between her fingers and Chloe’s, how they were feathery, light, tickling, but strong in their pull. “But, Ms. Mitchell,” she said quietly, inspecting the hand she was holding by turning it around, “I  _am_ curious as to just  _how_ bad your language is outside of school hours…There’s only so much a girl like me can put up with.” 

Beca let out the smallest squeak when Chloe let go of her hand, smirking. When she opened her mouth and closed it again, incapable of a proper response, Chloe’s smile only grew. It was different than the one she reserved for the children - that one was wide and glowing and could convince anyone that they were the only person in the world…it was a smile that said, “That macaroni painting is, without question, the most beautiful thing that has ever been produced by a member of humanity” and “Reading the word ‘cat’ without hesitation is, without a doubt, the greatest achievement of mankind”. It was a smile that made you grow ten times your size. This smile, on the other hand, made Beca shrink impossibly smaller, turning her into a blushing, stumbling mess that couldn’t tell if it was reading the fantasy that twinkled in Chloe’s eyes properly. 

“Hm,” Chloe hummed, dropping the smile easily and shrugging. She turned away from Beca, starting to walk down the hallway without waiting for the other woman. “We’ll see if it rubs off on me,” she said over her shoulder, and though Beca couldn’t see it explicitly, she could  _feel_ the same smile on Chloe’s mouth,  _feel_ it buzzing through the walls and making it harder for Beca to breathe. She blinked twice before catching up to Chloe, taking a deep, shuddering breath before taking Chloe’s hand. 

She blamed the setting as the reason she felt like she was in middle school all over again. 

They just barely reached the doors that led to the parking lot when Chloe stopped, slapping her head. “Damn.” 

Beca stayed quiet, stretching a questioning smile Chloe’s way and tilting her head. Chloe met her gaze with apologetic eyes. “I, um…I can’t go out.” 

“The whole ‘locked in a tower thing’ is a little less romantic when it’s an elementary school,” Beca said sarcastically, her hand still on the door handle. Chloe let out a breathy chuckle, and Beca - Beca Mitchell, professional connoisseur of music - thought it might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. 

“No, I mean I’m locking up tonight. The vice principal’s out on Tuesday afternoons, so I stay late for her.” Beca nodded, running the toe of her shoe along the line of the door. 

“Okay,” she bit her lip, watching her foot, “Great. I was kinda dying to get back to that wooden xylophone. Pretty sure I was whipping up a masterpiece with that thing.” 

–

“There are crackers in the cabinet over there. Maybe a few cookies, if Tommy didn’t steal any during recess.” Chloe was squished underneath her desk, but from her line of sight, Beca could see her hand pointing over to the cabinets she spoke of. Heading over there quickly, she turned only briefly to watch the way the dress Chloe was wearing bunched up when she scooted underneath the furniture. After tripping over a desk chair, she regained her focus. “And, if we’re lucky….Yes!” 

Behind a box full of glue guns, a half-open package of Ritz crackers sat, and when Beca turned around with them in hand, she saw Chloe starting to sit cross-legged on the alphabet rug with a flask at her feet. One eyebrow raised, she started to walk to the makeshift picnic area. 

“Ms. Beale, I must say, I am scandalized,” she said with a gasp, holding her free hand up to her chest. Chloe rolled her eyes, pursing her lips to keep from smiling, and reached up to grab the cracker box. 

“It’s for emergencies,” she said quickly, turning her head to both sides of her before plucking a chocolate bar victoriously from the crack between her hip and the floor. “You don’t  _have_ to drink it.” 

“Oh no,” Beca answered quickly. She plopped down next to Chloe, and reached out automatically for the flask, “Where I come from, we do not turn down booze.” 

“Ah, yes, famous music producer Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said while waggling her eyebrows, “Living a life of scandal and intoxicants, I’m sure.” 

Beca rolled her eyes while she stole a sip from the flask, wincing only slightly when it burned her throat. “I mean,  _you_ have kisses by the water fountain and drawers full of glue, so…” 

Chloe laughed at that, positioning a piece of smushed chocolate on a cracker and taking a cautious bite, one hand positioned beneath her mouth to catch the crumbs. Beca watched the outline that the candy drew on her lips, licking her own lips subconsciously. 

“When did you start singing?” she spat out before thinking, her eyes jumping to Chloe’s immediately. The furrow of Chloe’s brow made Beca wish more than ever that she had the ability to turn back time. “Um. What I mean is that…God, that was creepy, right? Yeah. Super creepy. Shit.” 

Chloe’s confusion melted slightly into amusement. “How do you know I sing?” 

“Magic music producing powers,” Beca answered weakly, her eyes aimed down at the cracker she was sandwiching with chocolate. 

“Well, your magic music producing powers are glitching then,” Chloe said. She ran her fingers over the hemline of her dress. “I mean, my shower head might agree with you, but that’s about it.” 

Beca squinted suspiciously, her earlier panic being reduced by the grin she felt spreading on her face. She shook her head. “Not buyin’ it. You can sing. I  _know_ these things, Ms. Beale, and you’re not hiding anything from me.” 

Chloe blushed - actually, properly blushed - and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. She shook her head in response, not once meeting Beca’s eyes. 

And she felt it - that need once again to push push push through where she so typically would just walk by without stopping. The need to explore every part of this woman’s expression, pulling and tugging at it until it fell apart. Because in a second, Chloe Beale turned from a suggestive, winking seductress to a blushing Bambi, and Beca would give the world to find the engine behind that force. 

She took another swig of the flask, handing it over to Chloe while wiping her mouth. “You know, between getting you to sing and getting you to actually swear within the four walls of your hallowed classroom, I’d say I have quite the night ahead of me, what do you think?” 

Chloe’s grin was small, and she was looking up at Beca from beneath her lashes, forcing Beca to wonder if there was any look at all that didn’t turn her into a puddle. She suddenly felt terrible for the poor ten year olds that had to live under the reign of this woman on a daily basis - for the fumbling boys with trousers too long and covered in grass stains, for the giggling girls with ruffled blouse collars and an inexplicable obsession with Ms. Beale’s hair-braiding sessions. 

“I think that I better get drinking,” Chloe said simply, plucking the flask from Beca, “And I think that, at the very least, you’ll get a Gold Star for trying.” 

Beca squinched her nose, bopping her head from side to side. The walls were adorned with Chloe’s students’ names, and she saw the bubbly scroll that was, undoubtedly, Chloe’s handwriting. “I’m more of an A+ kind of girl. Won’t stop still I get full marks.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got loads more fic over on my tumblah: cheeky-geek-m0nkey.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Loads more of my shiz-niz is over on my tumblah: flabbergasties.tumblr.com


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